


Rain

by newtypeshadow



Category: Onmyouji | The Yin-Yang Master (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:44:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8610949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtypeshadow/pseuds/newtypeshadow
Summary: Hiromasa wakes up on Seimei's porch to a rainstorm Seimei neglected to mention when asked.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LiveJournal's 1fandom theme set 1 table prompt "Rain."

Hiromasa startles from his doze against a pillar on Seimei’s porch. His hand is wet beside him. He yanks it under the awning and looks around, startled anew at the patter of rain on the roof and dirt of the garden, the purring of droplets on leaves and petals, the lulling sound that tempts him to close his eyes once more against the muted gray day.

He fights the urge. “Seimei?” he calls, looking around for his absent friend. Seimei’s tea cup remains on the tray before him. “Seimei, it’s raining!”

A shikigami with outer robes adorned in yellow flowers—camellias, Hiromasa thinks, though he has only seen them in pink and red—pads lightly from the interior of the house and folds back a screen blocking Hiromasa’s view of the living room. There, Seimei sits at a writing desk, eye to a storm of scrolls, stacked books, paper, and ink. Seimei finishes a brush stroke and looks up, sleeve held delicately in the hand not perfectly poised in the air, like a fox with a paw raised, face tilted like he’s caught a scent. “Is something wrong, Hiromasa?” Seimei asks, the edge of his lips twitching.

“Seimei, it’s raining!” Hiromasa says again, rolling to his knees, then his feet, and shuffling inside the house from the porch. He crouches on the edge of the stack of books, the top one open, and glares at Seimei expectantly.

Seimei raises an eyebrow and says nothing.

Hiromasa huffs. “Seimei, why didn’t you tell me it would rain when I said the sky looked threatening? I left my ox cart waiting outside—my driver is old, he’ll get sick standing out in this weather, and then where will I be? I must go home immediately!”

“No need,” Seimei says. His gaze returns to his notes. “I sent him home before the rain began. He will return when it stops tomorrow afternoon.”

“So you knew, and didn’t tell me.” Hiromasa frowns. “I would not have imposed upon your kindness.”

Seimei laughs, features sharpening in his fox-like smile. “You truly are a good man.” He laughs again.

Hiromasa laughs with him, pavlovian; Seimei’s laughter, even mocking, warms Hiromasa’s heart. “You could have asked me to stay the night,” he says, looking out into the rain. His ears feel hot. “You did not have to hide the rain from me.” He looks at Seimei then, hoping he understands, hoping he wants what Hiromasa means.

Seimei’s inscrutable gaze is locked on the wet tip of the brush he holds delicately, firmly, in his hand. His grip on his sleeve is relaxed as well. “I would have told you of the rain,” he says, then smirks at Hiromasa, “but you told me not to.”

“What? When?” Hiromasa frowns, trying and failing to recall any mention of such an order.

“Don’t you remember?” Seimei looks far too innocent when he gazes out at the sky and says, in Hiromasa’s mournful tenor, “Oh—don’t tell me it’s going to rain today!” He looks expectantly at Hiromasa. “You see, I was only trying to please you. Do not be angry with me, my dear Hiromasa.”

Hiromasa’s mouth opens and closes. Well yes, he’d said that, but—“Seimei, you knew what I meant!”

“Did I?” Seimei’s lips twitch. His eyes are laughing before his mouth joins them—Hiromasa’s too.

“Alright, I suppose I’ll impose on your kindness until the rain stops. Thank you for thinking of me and my driver. But…” Hiromasa looks at the floor, then at Seimei’s artful fingers around the brush. “I don’t wish to interrupt your studies. Perhaps I shall play my flute for a while, if that won’t disturb you.”

Seimei smiles softly. “I would welcome a distraction.” He puts down his brush and stands, walks to the inner ring of the porch overlooking the garden wet with rain. Hiromasa follows. With a whisper and a twist of two fingers, shikigami appear and clear Seimei’s work from the room. A jug of sake and tray of cups is set between them. They sit leaning against columns on the porch and gaze into the rain, Seimei holding a red fan to his plush bottom lip.

“Well, Seimei, we have a whole day together if I’m not mistaken. What shall we do with our time?” Hiromasa smiles at Seimei, hopeful as ever, but knowing their inevitable platonic activities will warm his heart nonetheless.

But Seimei pins Hiromasa with a predatory gaze, pulls the fan slowly through his fist to sit upright in his lap. Hiromasa’s face heats; so do other parts. Seimei strokes his fan. “My dear Hiromasa,” he purrs, “what shall we do, I wonder?”


End file.
